


The Last Word

by dendral



Category: Destiny (Video Game), Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, star wars destiny au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 18:19:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8024167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendral/pseuds/dendral
Summary: "And life was good. Being the only life I knew, my judgment is skewed, and it wasn't easy - pocked by loss as it was - but I would call it good.Until, of course, it wasn't.Until two men entered my world. One a light. The other the darkest shadow I would ever know."-Ghost Fragment: The Last Word   On hiatus due to the release of Destiny 2





	1. Rise

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU. Specifically a Destiny AU. Destiny is a video game by Bungie that's massively inspired by Star Wars. So obviously it was the perfect AU. Bear with me, because this will get large, and there will be so much lore. I'll be pulling from both the Expanded Universe and Destiny lore. You'll not need to know a thing about the game--I'm here to fill in all the gaps for you.
> 
> Because this is a bit of an undertaking and honestly not a lot of people will immediately look at it and go, "Oh, sweet, the AU I always wanted!" reviews/kudos/encouragements/whatever would be super, super appreciated.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the ride.

 

_“Your only existence shall be that which I weave for you out of sorrow and woe.”_

_-Black Spindle_

* * *

“What are you?” he asks, his voice an echo in the Void. He is floating, weightless. He has been in this place for centuries, though he doesn’t know how he knows this.

“I am your Light, Obi-Wan,” the mechanical being floating in his hands replies. It is emitting a faint glow, fixes its circular eye on him, and seems to see right into his soul. “Your Ghost.” Its voice is distorted and staticky but still concrete, and it wraps around his bare waist like rope and pulls him forward, out of the endless abyss of nothing into something he cannot name.

But it is _something_. And as he nears that something, the world around him gets brighter, and he grasps onto that voice like a lifeline.

(It _is_ his lifeline, this he knows, for if the voice ever goes silent then his tenuous connection to the something he is approaching will vanish like smoke, and he will be plunged into an endless darkness once again, and he does not want this, not now, because he is frightened of the dark from which he is emerging.)

“My… Light?” he whispers, because the gentle warmth flickering in his chest feels fragile, like it will break if he speaks too loudly.

“Yes,” the thing—his Ghost—says. “And I have spent a very long time searching for you.”

A vast plain opens in Obi-Wan’s mind. Life, something whispers. Light. He existed once before. He will exist again. The warmth in his chest blooms, flames unfurling like flowers, and it starts to burn, starts to hurt. It becomes unbearable, and Obi-Wan is left wheezing for air that doesn’t exist in this place. “Why?” he gasps out. “Why were you searching for me?”

“So you can help save the universe,” it replies, and Obi-Wan’s vision goes white.

* * *

He feels disoriented. His senses are wobbly. He opens his eyes to bright blue skies filled with wispy white clouds, but his vision swims and the colors slip into each other like a watercolor painting bleeding in the rain. The warmth in his chest is gentle now, not trying to consume him. He hears a roaring in his ears, feels his own pulse in his fingertips as the numbness of his limbs abates. The nausea rises in his gut and he closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths in—

He’s breathing. That seems unprecedented. After all, he was dead moments ago, wasn’t he?

He has a bad feeling about this.

Obi-Wan opens his eyes again. His vision is settled and he feels a breeze tickling his bare face. He hears the mechanical being from his dreams (afterlife?) whirring above him and he readjusts his gaze to focus on its hovering form. “You’re awake!” it chirps. “I was worried. You looked unwell when I brought you back, and I thought that maybe the Traveler had given me a doomed Guardian, one that would be too sick to survive—but you are much stronger than you seem. I should not have questioned the Traveler. It was foolish of me to believe that your Light was faulty somehow.”

“What?” Obi-Wan says, voice dry and cracking.

Another figure moves into his vision and he turns his head—it hurts, and he supposes it would when someone has just come back from the dead. The figure is humanoid, tall and imposing, wide in the shoulders. He wears a helmet with horns sprouting out from the top, curling back and pointing out behind them. The top of the helmet curves down into the shape of an eagle’s beak over the visor, which is tinted silver so that Obi-Wan cannot see past it, but can faintly see his own fractured reflection. The chin of the helmet alone is painted gold. The rest of the helmet is grey.

“Don’t mind your Ghost,” the figure says in a deep voice muffled by his helmet. The speaker he is using to communicate with him is barely audible and he has to strain to understand what’s being said. Obi-Wan feels fear infuse in his chest—but it vanishes when he sees another mechanical creature, similar to his own, floating beside the stranger. How curious, he thinks, that seeing one should make him think ‘friend.’

“It’s excited to have found you, that’s all,” the stranger continues. “It will likely say some… disconcerting things for a while longer, until it’s calmed down some.”

The stranger offers Obi-Wan a hand. He takes it and finds himself on his feet, lifted from the ground as though he weighs nothing. The stranger is much taller than him, a good two heads. His chest is broad and he is wearing a thick armored chest plate. A belt with pouches loops around his waist and from it hangs an intricately detailed piece of green cloth. The suit he wears under the armor is all black.

His presence is surprisingly safe.

“It’s not my fault!” Obi-Wan’s Ghost replies indignantly, flaring up, its pyramidal attachments spinning around its spherical frame. The Ghost swivels around from its position in the air to look at Obi-Wan. “After all, it took so long to find him! Longer than most other Ghosts took to find theirs after they were brought to life. We should leave soon—come dark, it will not be safe for a newly resurrected Guardian to be out here.”

Obi-Wan takes stock now that he is upright. He is wearing what seems to be a thick, padded cloak of some kind. It is colorful, with intricate patterns woven across the fabric, and the front of it feels hard and heavy, like metal. He wears basic gauntlets over his forearms and pale boots that cover the entirety of his shins.

They are in a graveyard of red-rusted vehicles. Weeds grow from under the metal frames of shuttles and vines cover all that they can, crawling up the bulkheads of starships and tangling speeders in their grips. They stand in the shade of the crumbling remnants of a highway, still held up by cracked duracrete pillars. The sun is dragging itself across the sky, as though it is tired of its task and wishes to rest forevermore beyond the horizon.

The feeling is mutual. Obi-Wan is tired. He wants to sleep. His eyelids feel heavy. Perhaps he should’ve stayed dead, as frightening as the prospect seems. After all, there was nothingness in death.

“Feeling like you wish you weren’t alive is part of coming back,” his Ghost supplies unhelpfully. “The feeling will go away in due time! Most Guardians get over it in a few days, a week a most.” Obi-Wan tosses his Ghost a glare. He can’t tell for sure, but by his stance, the stranger seems amused.

“Can someone explain what’s going on here?” Obi-Wan asks weakly. He feels steadier now, able to support his own weight on his own feet, but a weariness drags his shoulders down. His Ghost flutters around him and emits a sound that Obi-Wan supposes is some sort of humming. He knows instantly that his Ghost desperately wants to tell him and is barely holding its tongue (though Obi-Wan suspects it has none to speak of).

The stranger looks at him, the only indication being a tilt of his head. His Ghost makes a trilling noise, like it’s laughing.

“Not here,” the stranger says. “We shall talk at the Tower. There is much to discuss. The Consensus will want to meet you. But for now,” he continues, pushing a helmet into Obi-Wan’s hands, “put this on and follow me.”

“May I at least have your name?” Obi-Wan asks as he slips the helmet on. It fits him perfectly, and he wonders how the stranger knew it would.

“I am Qui-Gon Jinn,” the stranger—Qui-Gon—replies. “Now, let us go home, Guardian. There is much for you to learn.”


	2. Traveler

_"Eternity is very close. Can you feel yourself slipping?"_

_-Necrochasm_

* * *

The trip to Qui-Gon’s ship leaves Obi-Wan with even more questions. But he is not the first to speak once they finally get off the ground, Qui-Gon in the pilot’s seat and Obi-Wan standing behind him, gripping the back of the chair to keep his balance.

“Tell me your name, Guardian,” Qui-Gon says, breaking the silence that had formed between them during the trek to his ship.

He doesn’t ask. But he doesn’t demand, either. It is a request.

“Obi-Wan,” he says after a moment’s hesitation. “Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Qui-Gon hums. “A Warlock’s name if I’ve ever heard one.”

The comment leaves Obi-Wan thoroughly perplexed, but he senses that Qui-Gon will not elaborate, and any questions he asks will likely be given the response, ‘That is for the Consensus to explain.’

He’s already gotten that response five times, and Obi-Wan would be lying if he said it wasn’t starting to irk him. He still doesn’t know what the Consensus _is_.

“What planet was that?” he asks Qui-Gon instead, as they leave the atmosphere of the planet that was his final resting place—and his birthplace as well, he supposes.

“Stewjon,” Qui-Gon tells him. “This planet’s system is fairly unremarkable. After the multiple dead ends your Ghost and I hit on both the Core planets and the Outer Rim territories, I must admit that I didn’t believe we would find you there of all places. I wouldn’t have traveled here in the first place, but circumstances led me here with your Ghost anyway. Even then, I had doubts that we would find you.”

Obi-Wan furrows his brows. His Ghost is restless next to him. There’s something Qui-Gon is hiding, and it seems to be more personal than the other things he refuses to reveal. “Why?”

“We’ve never found a Guardian in the Stewjon system before.”

“Perhaps it’s because no one bothered to look.”

Qui-Gon shrugs in response. “When it comes to these matters, we tend to follow the Ghosts.”

“So you’re blaming my Ghost?” Obi-Wan quips. Obi-Wan wishes they weren’t still wearing their helmets so he could see Qui-Gon’s face.

“Yes and no,” Qui-Gon responds in his calm tone, instead of rising to the bait. Which is a shame, really, because Obi-Wan feels nervous around him again, with how stiff and distant he seems to be. Some banter would, at least, ease the tension that Obi-Wan begins to think that he alone is experiencing. “They’re the ones that are searching, after all. Not even they know where to start looking. They just know that they have to look.”

Obi-Wan purses his lips. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why send them off on a possibly endless chase? From what I gather, the probability of finding Guardians is already very little—to not have even a basis to start a search is to waste time.”

“If you’re curious as to _how_ the Ghosts function,” Qui-Gon says. “Why don’t you ask your _Ghost_ about it? It will surely provide more answers than me.”

“Have you never wondered about it yourself?”

“I will admit that it did not seem terribly relevant at any time before this, nor does it seem relevant to me now.” Obi-Wan can’t read Qui-Gon well, but he thinks he can read a person well enough that he can tell Qui-Gon is tiring of his needling. He may have been dead for centuries, but he knows when he’s being a nuisance.

He eases off. Perhaps now is not the time to anger the man giving him a ride to—

Home, he supposes.

And this in itself is a strange thing to think of. That was what Qui-Gon had called it, planet-side. Home. But Obi-Wan has no home. The home which Qui-Gon speaks of if his, not Obi-Wan’s. Home had been the vast darkness, the infinite emptiness. He remembers nothing from Before (and he supposes that will be what he calls the life he lived before death, before coming back).

Everything in the living world is so vibrant, so luminous; it almost hurts Obi-Wan’s still-adjusting eyes. Even Qui-Gon glows with the Light’s essence. Obi-Wan wonders if he glows with it too. Obi-Wan glances at his Ghost. It is quiet now. It had been so talkative when he’d first been reborn. Is this the true nature of his Ghost, then, now that it has settled some?

Qui-Gon begins to make the jump into hyperspace. The ship gives a violent shudder and jolts Obi-Wan out of his thoughts. A red light flashes above Qui-Gon’s head. He flips a few switches and the light goes away.

“Is this ship actually space-worthy, let alone _hyperspace_ -worthy?” Obi-Wan asks, and while his voice manages to remain steady, his heart is pounding wildly in his chest. _Flying_. Gods, he hates flying, and he gets the sinking feeling in his gut that he will be doing a lot of it in the near future, whether he wants to or not.

Or perhaps Qui-Gon is just a miserable pilot. It’s not like the ship was in good condition to start with—the interior is filled with dusty equipment, cracked screens, and exposed wiring. His Ghost notices too, and says with some level of disdain, “Please remember that the goal is to get him back alive.”

Good to know that his Ghost is just as snide as he is.

The glare that Qui-Gon sends over his shoulder is not curbed by the helmet. In fact, his helmet amplifies the effect. Obi-Wan spends the rest of the voyage in silence.

* * *

Coruscant, though Obi-Wan has no memory of it, rings familiar. The planet—with its miles-deep sublevels below the surface and its towering skyscrapers that rise up, looming over every living thing, and the strange, giant white orb that floats in the sky above everything—does not elicit some reaction of awe, or curiosity. Obi-Wan feels as though he’s missing something vital (something important) about the city they land in.

They disembark from Qui-Gon’s ship and Obi-Wan takes off his helmet. The fresh air feels pleasant on his face; it’s cool, gentle, a caress, almost. Qui-Gon takes his helmet off too.

The face underneath is rugged, the cheekbones sharp and the nose large. Qui-Gon takes his hair out of its bun and it slips down to his lower back, long and brown and straight. He has grey hairs at his temples, but they make him look distinguished, as does his neatly trimmed beard. There are almost unnoticeable semi-circles under his eyes, and Obi-Wan can’t help but wonder if they are a permanent fixture or a result of the long journey he has been on.

Qui-Gon quirks a brow at Obi-Wan, who realizes then that he is staring. He looks away quickly, searching for anything else to fix his gaze on.

“Notice anything?” Qui-Gon presses.

“About what?”

“This place.”

“No,” Obi-Wan replies, feeling unsure. What is there to notice?

It isn’t until they begin to work their way into the crowd of people at the spaceport does Obi-Wan realize why he doesn’t feel out of place: the people sound just like him. The inflection of their sentences, the lilt of their words, the way their lips shape consonants and curve around vowels—they speak like he does. Qui-Gon’s accent sounds flat, like vast plains of desert, but his own is crisp like the leaves of autumn trees, and so do the accents of the majority of the beings that surround them.

“I sound like I’m from here, don’t I,” Obi-Wan says to Qui-Gon.

He nods.

“How do you think I ended up on Stewjon?”

“Not a being exists that can say. No Guardian retains the memories of their past life. The circumstances that brought us to our resting places are lost to us,” he says, and it’s the most helpful answer he’s given Obi-Wan in the entire short time they’ve known each other.

They lapse into silence again and Obi-Wan soaks in the spaceport’s activity. He follows Qui-Gon to wherever it is the man is leading him.

Forty minutes pass and they move from spaceport to city streets to an air taxi to a market a few levels below the surface. There, Obi-Wan follows Qui-Gon through the streets into a small shop. “What are we doing here?” Obi-Wan finally asks, giving into curiosity as he watches Qui-Gon select a few tins from the shelves and inspect them.

“We are buying tea,” Qui-Gon replies.

“Now? Aren’t we supposed to get to the Tower? With how much of a hurry you were in to leave Stewjon, I was under the impression that we’d be in more of a rush,” Obi-Wan says.

“Yes, but if the Consensus is going to saddle me with you as they seemed to initially plan, then I will need enough tea for two people.”

Obi-Wan scrunches up his nose. “You’ve lost me.”

“The plan is, you’re going to be on my fireteam, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon explains. He makes his tea selection and wanders over to the cashier, a young woman with jaw-length hair and a hooked nose. “And if that is the case, then I need to buy more tea so that we have enough for two people on longer missions. The amount I have now will run out in no time.”

“We’re… a team,” Obi-Wan repeats.

“Yes,” Qui-Gon agrees and hands a card over to the cashier.

“You. And me.”

“Yes.” Qui-Gon accepts the white bag with his purchase from the woman.

“I fail to see how this partnership will work out when you have made it increasingly clear that you aren’t happy with the arrangement,” Obi-Wan says. “Or with having retrieved me at all.”

Qui-Gon brushes past him and out of the shop. Obi-Wan keeps to his heels. “It doesn’t matter how I personally feel about the situation, Obi-Wan.”

“I disagree. How we feel about each other will undoubtedly affect how we conduct ourselves during—whatever it is we’re doing at the time—” Obi-Wan stops walking. Qui-Gon seems to sense that Obi-Wan is no longer following and slows, turning to face him.

“Is there something wrong?” Qui-Gon asks.

“What am I even _doing_?” Obi-Wan asks himself aloud. “I’ve just—followed you. No explanation of where you’re taking me. What I’ll be doing when I get there. What will happen to me and my Ghost. Why—” Obi-Wan lets out a frustrated sigh and shoves his fingers through his hair. “Why should I go with you?”

Qui-Gon assesses him. “Why don’t you ask your Ghost?”

His Ghost appears at his side, blinking curiously at him. Obi-Wan looks at the mechanical being, the thing that brought him back.

“To be fair,” the Ghost begins, “you don’t have to go anywhere you don’t wish to go. The Traveler will not control you, nor does it want to, and as long as you stay with the Light, I will always be with you. But the Tower is the safest place for a Guardian, especially one so new to the universe. You’ll have shelter, food, and family.”

“But I don’t understand,” Obi-Wan says. “What is the Traveler?”

“Look up.”

So Obi-Wan does.

Hovering miles above them, glowing bright and radiating warmth, is the giant white orb Obi-Wan had seen from Qui-Gon’s ship. It’s truly massive from this angle—compared to it, the skyscrapers are like ants. Along its surface are deep, gash-like crevices and what look like patches of exposed, grey machinery. It seems to hum with life.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan breathes, finally _seeing_ it in a way that he failed to when they’d entered atmo, and he is struck, suddenly, by a deep Understanding.

A voice, ethereal and calm, shimmering with all the colors in the universe, sings in his ear. He feels dizzy, weightless, like he’s floating in the Void again, but this time he has fire in his chest, his mouth, his fingertips. Heat sparks up and down his nerves, sending them alight; he holds Life in his palms, a frightened, fragile thing and he is overcome by the _urge_ , the startling, unadulterated _need_ to protect it, and he spirals into the song, the heady melody stirring nebulae in his brain and birthing stars, stars dripping radiant orange and red and yellow and—

“Are you alright?” ask Qui-Gon, a gentle hand resting on his shoulder, and Obi-Wan comes back to himself, his heart beating a steady rhythm in his chest, his skin tingling with warmth.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replies, but he’s not sure if his answer is true. Qui-Gon studies him.

“Let us go to the Tower,” he says quietly. “I’ve stalled long enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to make updates biweekly, or weekly if time allows. Chapters will probably get progressively longer? Which means they'll take more time to put out. Additionally, tentative edits will be happening across all chapters at various times as I decide which verse's terms to use for what.
> 
> Notes about the story thus far:  
> -The Consensus is the Jedi Council. Next chapter, we'll learn all about them.  
> -There's no such thing as a Master/Padawan relationship, nor is there the process of Padawans not being chosen by Masters and being shipped off to AgriCorps; there are only instances of Guardians choosing to leave or dying permanently. Instead, we'll have Consensus-assigned Fireteams that are pretty much non-negotiable, especially when a new Guardian is involved.  
> -The beginning of each chapter will contain a line or more from a Destiny Grimoire card.


	3. Speaker

_“This is the tower where we were born. Not the Tower. Just a tower in a dream [. . .]_

_Some of us go to the tower in peace. They walk through a field of golden millet and a low warm wind blows in from their back. I don't know why this is, because:_

_The rest of us meet an army.”_

_-Ghost Fragment: Legends_

* * *

The Tower, the central Guardian hub, stands watch over the city. It measures a mile high and sits miles away from the Traveler—far enough that, from the plaza, Obi-Wan can see the Traveler in all its glory, rising high and bright and disappearing into the clouds.

Qui-Gon lands his ship in the Tower hangar and he leads Obi-Wan through the plaza to the Hall of Guardians. The entrance to it is a flight of stairs in the center of the plaza, leading down.

Inside is a long hallway that leads to a more open room. In the room is a table with a holomap, and three beings stand around it, analyzing their holopads. The one at the far end of the table is an elderly man with an enlarged, conical cranium, a wispy white beard and thick, white eyebrows (“Cerean,” Obi-Wan’s Ghost whispers to him). He wears a loose piece of fabric around his waist like Qui-Gon, and thick armor over his chest. The second figure, standing with his hands folded behind his back, is a stern man with dark skin and calculating eyes (“A Korun,” says his Ghost). A cloak drapes down his back and his armor is smaller, more compact, covering less but allowing more movement. His gaze flashes to where Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan stand in the entrance. He narrows his eyes, but his expression betrays nothing.

The last is who Qui-Gon leads Obi-Wan to. He is a tall figure, elegant and carrying an aura of unflappable calm and compassion. He wears a mask over his mouth and goggles over his eyes. His skin looks leathery, a tan-tinged-pink color (“And he’s a Kel Dor,” his Ghost finishes).

“This is Guardian Plo Koon,” Qui-Gon says, gesturing for Obi-Wan to step forward. “Master Plo Koon, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Greetings, young one,” Plo Koon says, bowing his head. Obi-Wan bows in return and, unsure where to put his hands, clasps them behind his back. “It is my pleasure to welcome you to the Tower. I am the Warlock Vanguard—I oversee missions for Guardians such as yourself.”

Obi-Wan blinks. “Is that what I am, then? A Warlock?”

“I’m going to assume that Qui-Gon kindly explained nothing to you on the way here,” the Korun cuts in, walking over to join them. Qui-Gon frowns. “My name is Mace Windu. I’m the Hunter Vanguard and the Vanguard Commander. Though Master Koon will be your direct superior, I oversee all Vanguard activities. That,” and he points at the Cerean, who nods before returning to his work, “is Master Ki-Adi-Mundi, Titan Vanguard. I’m sure you’ll come to know each other better in the future.”

“I see,” Obi-Wan says, feeling awkward.

“It seems that our Guardians are starting to skew much younger these days,” Plo Koon says, studying Obi-Wan. Behind the goggles, Obi-Wan can’t tell what the Kel Dor is thinking. “He can’t be over thirty, surely.”

“The young have always been better suited for war,” Windu drawls.

Obi-Wan frowns. “Nobody told me a thing about a war.”

“Don’t worry,” Plo Koon says, a hint of laughter in his voice. “There is none. We Guardians are simply peacekeepers for the galaxy—we fight the Darkness where it appears so that it does not take over.”

“So, from a certain point of view,” Qui-Gon chimes in, “we’re fighting a war against the Darkness.”

“A formidable enemy indeed,” Windu says. He looks to Plo Koon. “I suppose you’d better take him to Master Yoda, then.”

“Guardian Jinn, you are dismissed,” Plo Koon says. “Please follow me, Obi-Wan.”

Qui-Gon bows and backs away. Plo Koon strides past him, Obi-Wan trailing after. He glances over at Qui-Gon, uncertain, but Qui-Gon nods, gestures with his head to go.

As soon as they’re out of the Hall of Guardians and striding across the plaza, Obi-Wan speaks. “Who is Master Yoda?”

“He’s the Speaker,” Plo Koon says. “He speaks to the Traveler and is its representative. He helps guide us so that we may follow in the Light, rather than fall prey to the Darkness.”

“How did he come to be the Speaker?”

Plo Koon laughs, a deep rumble in his chest. They pass through a doorway and into a hall. “You’re very inquisitive. Master Yoda will like that. I’m sorry to say I do not have an answer to your question, young one. There are many things we do not know about the Traveler.”

Unease drapes itself across Obi-Wan’s shoulders, a loth-cat stretching out and digging its claws in. “But you trust the Traveler.” And Obi-Wan does as well—he has seen things, things he cannot quite explain. But it still feels wrong, intrinsically, for him to place his faith so blindly into something whose nature or true intentions he cannot discern.

He wonders if that instinct comes from his life Before.

“Yes,” Plo Koon replies, leading him into another section of the Tower, an enclosed space with vendors and computer terminals. “We do. Because that is all we can do.”

They enter through a door so tall Obi-Wan couldn’t even touch the top if he jumped. Plo Koon stops at the bottom of a long staircase. “Master Yoda is at the top. He will be eager to speak to you, as he is with all new Guardians.”

“Are you not accompanying me?” Obi-Wan asks, casting a nervous glance at his Ghost.

“I must return to my duties. Don’t worry.” The Kel Dor seems to smile under his mask. “Master Yoda won’t bite.”

Plo Koon leaves. Obi-Wan stares up at the top of the stairs. He cannot see much—a figure moving among the piles of papers stacked atop a desk, a number of measuring instruments. The room seems to be an observatory of sorts—there’s a complex mechanism in the center, its purpose something Obi-Wan cannot begin to fathom; there are glass-paned windows that span the entire length of the wall, letting in the light; banners with an emblem on them cover parts of the viewing field, a meld of what Obi-Wan thinks may be a sword and wings, all in white against a red backdrop.

He sucks in a breath and makes his way up. “What do you think?” he asks his Ghost.

“We’ll be fine. I hope.”

“How reassuring.”

He’s surprised when he reaches the top of the staircase. He doesn’t know what he was even expecting. Master Yoda is a small, green being with large ears and white hair. He barely even comes up to Obi-Wan’s knee. He has his clawed hands folded in his lap and he sits atop a cushion, eyes closed. Meditating. Obi-Wan doesn’t see a Ghost, but he knows, somehow, that the old creature has one.

Obi-Wan hesitates.

“Found you at last, Qui-Gon has, hm?” Master Yoda says, raspy voice cutting through the background hum of engines as starships take to the sky from the Tower hangar. Obi-Wan starts.

“Yes,” he says after a pause.

“Uncertain if it was a good thing to be found, you are,” Master Yoda continues.

Obi-Wan doesn’t have a response for that. “I don’t think he likes me,” he admits.

Master Yoda opens his eyes and eases himself to his feet. He picks up a gimer stick and walks towards Obi-Wan, each step punctuated by the tap of wood against the floor. “I am Master Yoda. Kneel down, young Kenobi. A better look at you, I would like.”

Startled that the Speaker knows his name, Obi-Wan gets down on his knees. Master Yoda examines him, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes more prominent as he squints at Obi-Wan. “Powerful, you are,” he says. The old creature harrumphs. “A fool, Qui-Gon is. Pardon him, you must, young one. Blinded by grief, he has been, though passed enough, time has, for him to let go.”

“Oh?”

“For him to tell, that story is. Patience you must have.”

“I don’t know if I’ve got patience,” Obi-Wan says, amused. “I snapped at him on the way to the Tower, and was quite close a number of times before. Anyway, I’m sure he’s sick of me—I _may_ have been disagreeable on the way to Coruscant. Though I would say it’s hardly my fault—Qui-Gon is a miserable pilot.”

Master Yoda’s eyes twinkle with something Obi-Wan cannot name. He smiles, a thin, upturned line on wrinkled lips. “A sense of humor, you have. Good. A necessity, laughter is, in these dark times.”

The Speaker turns away. Obi-Wan gets to his feet. “Spoken with the Traveler, you have,” Master Yoda asks—but it’s not a question.

“I…” Obi-Wan falters. “I don’t know. Perhaps.”

“A thirst for knowledge, you have, young Kenobi. Many questions you have.”

“Yes. But no one has given me satisfactory answers.”

Master Yoda hums. “A great Warlock, you will be. The path of a Sunsinger, you shall walk. A beacon of Light for all beings, you shall be; lead them from the Darkness, you will.”

“How can you be so sure?” Obi-Wan asks, though his heart feels less heavy and he feels as though he’s found his footing, finally. He has something to work for. Something to become.

Something more than the nothingness he left behind him, a mere day ago.

“Trust in the Traveler, young one,” Master Yoda says instead of answering. “Find answers through discovery, you shall.” He nods to himself, seemingly content. “Go. To your quarters you will be shown. Rest, you should get. Tomorrow, your training begins.”

Obi-Wan bows and takes his leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YIKES I'm really late with this update. I blame the four other AUs that have dominated my brain. Also, classes. And traveling. And a lot of other excuses.
> 
> Anyway. We're meeting some important people, finally. Shoutout to everyone that left kudos and comments. I'm so warmed by the fact people are enjoying this story.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm making art for this sucker as well.  
> If I've somehow managed to convince you to join me in this pit, then visit me at tcf-dendral.tumblr.com!


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